Losing
by Green Sphynx
Summary: Set of drabbles about Ja'far losing things. Contains Sinja and gore
1. Eyes and Hands

**I was inspired to write a drabble about losing eyesight, and it resulted in the start of a set of drabbles of Ja'far losing various things. I'm not sure whether I'm going to write some follow-up drabbles to these, or if they are all going to be unrelated to each other. Then again, there's only so many things Ja'far can lose...**

**So note, these drabbles are seperate stories, and are not related to one another!**

**Warnings: Gore, Sinja pairing and mistakes in my English**

**I do not own any of these characters**

* * *

_Eyes_

He could sense the people passing by. Many people, some walking fast, some strolling leisurely. They were just there, a few steps away from him, all passing by.

Yet he couldn't reach.

He could feel the warmth of his blood where it was forming a puddle around his hands. He might've taken his hands off the ground to avoid tainting them even darker, but he needed the stability.

Tears of blood rolling down his cheeks, his regrets and his joy all mingling together in warm stickiness smelling like iron.

The smell of his own blood was overpowering, but even then he could still smell the remains of fish, rotten fruit and cooked cabbage. He could smell the places where dogs had relieved themselves, scattered around him. The two large bodies slowly cooling down behind him. It was clear he was in just any alley, the people of the city bustling by right outside.

He could sense the person entering the alley. He could hear the soft panting and feel the distress. Yet tilting his head down towards his king merely resulted in more bloody tears, more warmth, more of his life running down his cheeks.

"Ja'far!"

"Sin." He acknowledged softly with cracked lips. He tried to wet them with his tongue, but the metallic taste he received told him he only painted his lips in red with this action.

"Good Gods, what happened? We need to get you to a healer!"

Warm arms circled around him, trying to pick him up. He resisted.

"I lost them already, Sin," he told his king with a wavering voice. "It's no use. I will only be a bother."

"What are you saying?" He flinched, hearing genuine distress in his king's voice. Why then? He failed him. He went after those two men and killed them in cold blood, like Sinbad had forbidden him. And he lost. He was no longer of any use like this. He wasn't worthy.

"We need to stop the bleeding," Sinbad's voice sounded even more shaky than his own, and for a short moment he feared his king was injured too. That he had lost as much blood as he did himself.

But he was lifted in two strong arms, pulled close to a warm chest with a steady beating heart. Sin was healthy.

And he was no longer in any shape to resist.

He could feel a new warmness on his face. Tears. Actual tears. His king was crying for him, shaking as he held his weakened body close.

"Please don't bother with me Sin," he told him gently. "I am no longer of any use to you. It's fine if you leave me here."

"Idiot!"

He flinched, a new stab of pain at the contorting of his face.

"I'm taking you to the palace now." A hesitation. "I'll just... I'll just cover your face, so the people won't be scared when they look at you."

"As you wish, my king," he submitted weakly. He had lost too much blood, sitting there in that alley. He no longer had the strength to argue.

But he only dared to lose consciousness when the soft fabric of Sinbad's turban touched his eyeless face.

_..._

_Hands_

"Tsk!"

The large man looked down at him unimpressed, instead only pulling the wires in his grasp tighter. He was wearing thick leather gloves and didn't seem bothered by the sharp cut of the wires.

Ja'far on the other hand had the wires circled right around his bare wrists.

Never before had anyone tried to use his own weapon against him, but this man was surprisingly successful. With a large foot on the middle of his chest and a whole lot weight, he easily held down the small body of the government official. His arms were stretched to their limits, the wires pulled taut by the man's large hand. Ja'far would've kicked his legs, but a shortage of air made his vision swim.

He didn't even understand how he got here.

All he had been doing was walking quietly over the bazaar. Remarkably relaxed, if he did say so himself. He had been checking on a couple of people who sold heavy orange vegetables when he was called. A large man asking him to walk along for a moment.

He wasn't given a good reason, and he was suspicious. But unlike most people, that only made him more sure about following the man.

Such a mistake.

When he realised he was in danger - as soon as they entered the alley - he had pulled out his knives, but instead of cutting the man with a warning sharpness, both wires were grabbed right behind the blade. A foot was planted on his chest and he found himself strung up tidy and well.

He wondered if his shoulders were going to dislocate.

He had long lost the feeling in his hands, the strings cutting sharp edges into his wrists. Delicate lines of blood seeped down the wires on his arm, red trailing red over white. The man seemed in no hurry to change this, patiently waiting for Ja'far to give in.

He wasn't giving in just yet.

He couldn't struggle, no matter how much he wished. But he could remain tense, ready for attack the moment the man dropped his hands or lifted his foot. He might not be able to struggle, but just one person needed to enter the alley and there would be alarm, the man forced to let him go.

_Only, that one person wasn't coming._

He hissed, his vision blurring. He could see his hands slowly darkening. No longer red. No longer purple. They were starting to turn black.

His trembling arms ached dully, all sharp pains long since gone. He heaved for air, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

His hands.

He lost them.

Only then the man dropped the wires, and his arms dropped to the sides on his body as dead weights. He couldn't even feel where they hit the gravelly floor.

The foot lifted from his chest, but he couldn't gather the strength to get up. He couldn't gain the momentum, even if he wanted to. His arms were useless, his hands were dead.

The man slowly unsheathed a sword, lifting it above him and taking aim without any hurry. His face was impassive, like he couldn't really care. He couldn't really care he was assassinating one of the best assassins he'd ever meet.

And therefore, Ja'far wouldn't let him.

With a fast flick of his leg he twisted the wire around his ankle, smoothly sending the blade up into the man's back. He stumbled, surprised.

The other foot took care of the second wire, the blade tucked between his toes when he cut open the artery in the man's thigh with practiced precision.

Even when you used his own weapons against him, Ja'far hadn't lost yet. He didn't need his hands for simple tasks like these.

He lost his hands. But never his life.


	2. Voice and Hands 2

**The second drabble is a continuation of _Hands_ in the previous chapter. The first one stands on its own, unrelated to the other drabbles. I'll number the continuation drabbles so they are recognisable.**

* * *

_Voice_

It had been amazingly stupid. He had no idea how he had made the mistake, and he was ashamed to even show his face in front of his king. But rather than waiting for him to recover, his king came to see him.

It had seemed like such an innocent cup of water, brought to him by a servant. He didn't even think about it. He didn't even notice it was a new face. He just took a swig to wet his parched throat without second thought.

He should've smelled the acidic liquid from miles away.

It burned down his throat like fire, and he immediately choked on it. It saved his entire oesophagus from being burned out, but it did catch his trachea instead.

He had been unable to breath for the longest of time, and only when he started blacking out Masrur had busted in with Yamraiha under his arm. From what he could tell now - hours after the whole thing took place when he woke up in his own bed - Yamraiha had pierced his throat to create a new path for air, before trying to heal up the damaged tissue inside his mouth and upper throat.

He wondered if she succeeded.

He couldn't feel a thing inside his mouth, nor his throat. He could move his tongue, but only by pressing it into his teeth harshly he could feel it. The skin of his tongue felt dead. The insides of his cheeks, his palate, his throat. They all felt dead. And testing with his fingers, he found them too smooth, like burn scars.

He would've been troubled by the prospect of never tasting anything again if he hadn't tried to _ask_.

Because when he tried to _ask_, he found out there was no longer a voice coming from his throat.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you," Yamraiha told him, looking anxious. "The liquid burned a lot, and I barely managed to make it stop bleeding. I can't restore your sense of taste, nor your vocal cords. And you'll have trouble eating for a while." She studied him closely. "I suppose breathing must hurt too, right now."

She was right about that. But it didn't bother him. The freezing burn of air passing his damaged throat was more soothing than anything else. No, what bothered him was that he couldn't respond.

"Ja'far, what happened back there?"

He gave his king a helpless look, before turning away. How could he face him? How could he look him in the eye after making such a basic mistake?

"I'm afraid Ja'far will no longer be able to talk," Yamraiha told their king softly. Quietly, almost as if she were trying to spare Ja'far's feelings. But unlike his voice, his ears were still working perfectly fine.

He was expecting Sin to look disappointed in him. No, he _hoped_ Sin would be disappointed in him. Because he deserved at least that much punishment. He deserved to be relieved from his post and sent away, for allowing himself to almost be killed was the crudest of mistakes.

But he knew his king wouldn't do that.

Instead, Sinbad sat on the edge of Ja'far's bed, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek.

"You look like hell," he murmured, before leaning in. Ja'far's heart fluttered and his body froze when his king's lips brushed over his. It hurt so lovely.

"Can you still feel that?" His king's tones were hushed, and Ja'far gave a tiny nod. He could feel it, and it hurt. Maybe this was better punishment. He'd have to learn how to live with his mistake himself, for his king wouldn't punish him directly.

The only sound he produced was a soft sniffle, before Sinbad kissed him again.

...

_Hands 2_

He didn't know. He didn't remember.

All he knew was when he woke up with a thumping headache and a heavy body, his hands were no longer there.

The last thing he remembered was the heavy body of a man trying to kill him falling on top of him, his hot blood soaking Ja'far's clothes fast. Everything had soon turned black after that, but he did remember his hands had been dead - but present.

But he woke up in the palace, and all there was left was two stumps covered in bandages, aching and hurting like they were freshly cut.

His fingers itched.

He knew what was going to happen now. Sin would come and say that he didn't have to worry. He would loiter about and make sure Ja'far was comfortable. He did so every time his advisor fell ill.

Only this time, Ja'far wasn't about to get better. Without hands, he was utterly useless. He could no longer open a scroll, or write notes, or carry a stack of papers to his king's study. He couldn't even fall back on his basic qualities and simply return to being an assassin.

All he was worth now was a dead weight in a bed. A mouth to feed. A long trusted vassal turned veteran to worry about. Sin wouldn't let him go.

So he knew he had to leave by himself.

It bothered him he couldn't leave a note to help his king understand.

The room turned and twisted like a ship in a storm when he threw his legs off the edge of the bed. He refused to be intimidated and slowly rose to his feet. His vision grew dark, almost blackening out before returning to him. He'd lost too much blood.

Carefully he shuffled over to the corner of his room where he kept his clothes. Slipping into his shoes was easy, but he had some more trouble wrestling into his robes. He knew he'd have to settle with wearing his robes like an open coat, but it was much better than wandering out in just his nightshirt.

Managing to pull it somewhat closed and hiding his bandaged stumps in his sleeves, he stumbled through the door into the hallway. Nobody around. So far, so good.

He knew he wasn't quite capable of any form of stealth in his current condition, so he just had to hope he wouldn't run into anyone who knew about his condition, and use authority to get passed the rest.

"Oi, Ja'far. You look awful, what are you doing going around like that?"

He had gotten so far...

He turned to face Sharrkan, who actually had the nerve to look _worried_. "Just a little faint, nothing to worry about."

"A little faint? You look like a ghost! And I've never seen you walking around half undressed like that." Sharrkan stepped forward, frowning and reaching out to catch him.

Ja'far quickly stumbled a step back, not willing to be taken back by the swordsman when he was _almost_ outside. _Almost_ gone.

"Wait a minute... Weren't you carried in injured just yesterday?" It seemed to dawn on the other general's face - finally. "You shouldn't be walking around at all. Sin is not going to be happy when he finds out. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

"Don't touch me," he hissed at Sharrkan. "If you are worried about what Sin will say, tell him I left. I don't want to be any more of a bother than I am now, and the fool is not going to realise that by himself."

"But Sin..."

"...will learn to live with it," he cut in sharply. "And he'll be happier about it eventually. Now..."

He was cut off by two arms wrapping around him, suddenly lifting him up. He _squeaked_ - surely he wouldn't have sounded so pathetic if it wasn't for his weakened state - and thrashed weakly.

"You're going back to bed." Sinbad stated with a voice that left no room for discussion. "If you really want to leave, I'll allow you to discuss the matter with me when you are capable of taking care of yourself again. Until then, you will be stuck here, and I'll have guards in front of your room if necessary."

"Let me go!" Ja'far hissed, thrashing about and knocking into his king's head with his elbows.

He stopped struggling immediately when he saw Sharrkan's paled face, staring at him.

"Your_ hands_..."


	3. Eyes 2 and Arm

**The first drabble is a continuation again, the second one is new. I'm officially changing the warnings from slight gore to full gore now (just in case).**

* * *

_Eyes 2  
_

As much as everyone knew Ja'far could navigate the palace grounds blind, he'd never actually _done_ it before. Yet he was adamant about leaving his bedroom at dawn the very day the healers allowed him to. He knew Sin was informed he'd be allowed to leave his bed today, and he was likely going to take the day off from work to coddle Ja'far all over the place.

Ja'far would have none of it.

He'd love to find a way to get back to work, but he knew he wouldn't be of much use as he was. Maybe if he got used to being blind, he'd be able to take up a different task for his king. The first step to that was making sure he really did know the palace grounds as well as everyone thought.

Keeping a hand to the wall he made his way to the kitchens, feeling it would be wise to eat first while he was still recovering from the blood loss. Luckily there weren't many people around yet, this early in the morning. He could smell the relative crispness of the air that would soon swamp with oppressing heat as the day rolled around. The distinct feeling of air barely warmed by the sun just creeping over the palace walls on his lips and cheeks.

He scratched the bandages on his face irritably, cursing that he couldn't just _see_.

He could sense the person in front of him, walking towards him through the hallway. He straightened his back, set on not showing any weakness now. He had an image to uphold.

The large form didn't seem to want to pass him, instead heading straight for him. Masrur...?

His foot caught a drain and he tumbled forward with a suppressed cry. Hands were on him immediately, not allowing him to hit the floor.

His dignity had completed the tumble though.

"You alright?" Masrur's voice was dark and flat as always, but it was easy for Ja'far to detect the worry in it. Worry... _pity_.

"I just stepped wrong," he tried to brush it off, but Masrur wasn't letting him go.

"Let me walk you to the kitchen."

"Really Masrur, there's no need," he protested, already being lifted up onto a shoulder. "Please just put me down! If I don't do this for myself, I'll never learn how to walk around blindly!"

His honesty seemed to sway his fellow general, and he was put back on the floor. He could imagine his pride stinging like his empty eye sockets, but he was well aware Masrur didn't swallow any lies.

"At least let me walk with you."

"I don't wish to bother you," he answered - a bit too coldly, perhaps. "I know how to find my way."

"Please don't hurt yourself."

"I wasn't trying to."

Shuffling away from Masrur seemed successful. He could feel the man's stare burning on his back, but he was allowed to continue on by himself.

He sighed in relief, putting his feet down carefully. He wouldn't even have tripped if he hadn't been distracted by figuring out Masrur's presence. He needed to be more careful and not try to focus on too many things at the same time. He needed to _learn_ this first.

He reached the kitchens without another hitch, the only servant passing by him just greeting him politely. Politely, and curiously. _Why was Lord Ja'far wearing bandages over his eyes and shuffling through the palace in such an undignified manner?_

Reaching the kitchens was a relief, and he was glad to sag against the door. The small walk had been surprisingly tiring, taking all his concentration just to walk. He was glad he could sit down and eat something now.

He rose and stepped forward into the kitchen. "Anyone here?"

"Yes, my Lord. Would you like me to serve you - watch out!"

Just too late. He had grabbed the counter he knew was on his right side, not sensing the boiling hot pot standing there. With a cry he pulled back his burned hand, cradling it to his chest with an angered hiss.

The lady was on him with ice in mere seconds - probably she had been working with it then. Despite his angered state she tugged out his hand, cooling the burn with the ice.

He was such a helpless fool.

...

_Arm_

He blinked in surprise at the little feathered needle protruding from his chest. This was new...

His brain snapped back to attention a second later than it normally would've, and he glanced up to see his attacker. Of course, nobody was to be seen. Using a method like this, their attacker was likely hidden in one of the many buildings before them.

He pulled the needle from his skin - the poison slightly burning - and he swirled around to see his king. Unfortunately, Sinbad had been struck by surprise similar to himself, but was lacking the immunity for poisons his advisor had from years of working as an assassin.

How were they able to hit Sin?

His vision turned lightly, and he cursed. Whatever they shot him with, he wasn't completely immune to it. His king dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Ja'far stumbled a step back. He turned back around, trying to spot out his opponent again. He wouldn't allow Sin to get hurt.

Things were becoming slightly blurry, but even in that state he could see the man running towards him. With a practised move he sent his blades flying, piercing his attacker through the eye and through the throat. Reeling his blades back in, he barely sensed another man hurrying towards him from the side.

Turning made the world around him spin, and it took him a moment too long to react to the man with the swinging blade. He had to duck underneath the sharp metal, feeling his keffiyeh get caught. The light tug on his head shouldn't have affected him, but he lost balance either way. He only just managed to jolt back to his feet before the man was able to hit him, burying his blade in his attacker's arm pit and next his lung.

"You are a nasty one."

It was difficult to focus on the third man, who was calmly standing in front of him.

"We drug you, yet you kill both of my men like it's nothing. You should have been out like a light, just like your king."

Ja'far gave his best attempt at a glare, even though he could feel his face go slightly numb. The man was just winning time, waiting for Ja'far to collapse.

"Can't you just lay down like a good boy and sleep? I wouldn't even have killed you if you had done that immediately."

Ja'far shakily rose to his feet, swaying heavily along with the turning and twisting world. It was hard to see whether the man was right in front of him, or left, or right. Hell, he could be standing behind him and Ja'far had no idea. His swimming vision was slowly blackening out at the edges, and he knew he was running out of time.

He swung his blade around, at a height he knew was his opponents throat, in hopes that wherever the man actually stood, he'd hit him. The world swirled along with the blade, and Ja'far found himself face first on the ground.

The man chuckled. It didn't seem like Ja'far had hit him.

This position made it a little easier though. His vision was now limited to the floor and the foot right in front of his nose, so no matter how it swayed it was easy to locate the foot. The man screamed when Ja'far's blade dug into his ankle, ripping muscles apart and triggering a spray of blood.

Red. All red. Now he couldn't even see past the blood in his eyes.

He could sense the man swinging a sword, but he barely had the power to roll aside. The sword caught his swinging arm, ripping Ja'far's body back. He saw something bouncing off the floor, and more red. More and more and more, and his vision faded even further. He wanted to move his injured arm, but he didn't find any response apart from searing pain.

He rolled over, lifting his other arm. His head bumped into the man's legs, and that was all he needed to slash up, cutting open the length of the man's thigh and opening a shower of blood when he severed his artery. The man screamed and came down, so Ja'far could slash open his belly as well.

He couldn't see. Everything was red and black and he was covered in hot blood and slippery organs. He couldn't see his king.

He couldn't see his arm. The last thing he _could_ see was the stump where he was sure his arm had been before, wound in red wires and caught on a part of his attacker's intestine.


	4. Toes and Past

**Two new drabbles this time, no continuations of previous ones. The first one is way more gruesome than the second one.**

* * *

_Toes_

"Who would've thought we'd capture _you_, of all people?"

Ja'far didn't honour the man with a response. Just a glare. An iron glare to smiling eyes, red as blood. _Ineffective_.

"I'm sure coming to a place like this, allowing yourself to be captured like this, you would just love to share some information with us?"

"Tch." Ja'far couldn't help the sneer, but the mockingly cheerful expression on the royal's face fell.

"No?"

A resounding smack filled the room when Ja'far was backhanded in the face. He could taste blood seeping between his teeth, but he wasn't impressed. Not by just this.

He spit out the blood before Ren Kouen's feet, smirking up at him in a silent insult.

The man bent over just slightly, only enough to grab Ja'far's face with strong fingers to pull him closer, their gazes connecting. "You only came here to insult me then?"

Well, he certainly didn't come here to get tied up and treated as a war prisoner. Political reasons, perhaps, but not like this.

"I'm sure you'll be more than willing to share your information with us soon enough."

He was flung back down on the hard ground, Kouen rising back to his full height to look down disdainfully on the white man painted with red. Ja'far didn't even feel the scratches on his face, nor the cuts and bruises scattered over his body. Ren Kouen might think he was hurting Sindria's first advisor, but he was sorely mistaken. Ja'far could take so much more. So _so_ much more.

"You don't seem to be scared?" It was a mock of a pout followed swiftly by a smirk. Just the tiniest movement of his hand was enough of a command, and Ja'far suddenly found himself reacquainted with the floor. The heavy hand smacking his face into the tiles was removed immediately, but Ja'far found he couldn't rise with one of his legs forcefully being tugged back. He lost balance and rolled onto his side.

He wasn't afraid, and therefore refused to struggle. Struggling meant giving in. Struggling meant he admitted Ren Kouen's power over him.

But he regretted not struggling.

A scream tore from his throat with the unexpected pain, the first sound this loud they had managed to make him let out. He tried to pull his foot out of the grasp of the man behind him, but his struggle only increased the pain. The sounds were sickening, and he had to bite his teeth until they screeched against each other to avoid repeating his scream. The saw cut through his flesh like soft butter, but it took repeated cuts to sever his bone. It must've been less than a minute, but the time it took to saw off just one of his toes felt like a lifetime of pain.

He thrashed his head against the stone floor, the coolness and hardness his only way of trying to gain back his control. The tiles were slick with tears and bloody saliva, but it wasn't important.

_It wasn't important_.

"Feeling better now?"

His body trembled, fully aware his ankle was still in the firm grasp of the man behind him.

"If you still don't feel like talking, we might go onto the next toe. You have ten of them, after all."

He didn't make a sound. Not the whine threatening to spill from his lips, nor the grunt vibrating in his throat. His eyes were clenched shut, his forehead on the floor. Such a submissive pose. He couldn't keep this up.

_He would defy this man even if it took all his toes and fingers._

"Very well."

The pain was more expected now, and he refused to scream. He refused this man the sounds of his pain, just like he refused this man the information he was asking for.

Who did he think he was torturing? He was Ja'far, Chief of the best of Assassins before even hitting puberty! There was no way to get information out of him.

Yet the sickening sound of metal sawing through his bone reverberating from his toe up his leg forced a whimper out of him, muffled by the bloody wet tiles he pressed his face into. Ten had never seemed such an impressively large number for toes.

...

_Past_

He was confused. So terribly confused.

He was in a dark place, yet he could see the sun scorching the gravel of the road a few steps ahead. It was a smelly place too. Mould and shit and _blood_. He could smell it all. He could feel it all.

He looked at his brown stained clothes, wondering why he was so dirty. Why was he wearing such luxury clothes when he was going to get so dirty?

Moving his head made something on the back of his head crack. Lots of fabric, dark green, all over his head. Cracking. It seemed such soft fabric, why did it crack?

He gingerly reached up, touching the back of his head with dirty fingers. The fabric was hard with a dried substance. So that's why it cracked.

Gods, it hurt. Was he leaking?

He carefully pulled the green fabric off his head, ignoring the pain. He was sure it couldn't be that important. Had pain ever been important to him? He honestly couldn't remember.

With the fabric removed he could feel something warm seeping down his neck. The dark green was hard with brown, but it wasn't the same brown as he had on his knees. The brown on his knees was shit. The brown on the green was... Dotted with fresh red?

Too confusing. Too much. He was sure it couldn't be all that important if it was so complicated.

But his clothes were smelly and his head ached, so maybe it was a good idea to wash himself. Or strip. It was warm enough to strip.

No, it was _too warm_ to strip. He didn't want to stay in the dark place, and out there the sun would burn him. Yes, he remembered that much. He was white, the sun was hot and he would be red. And it would hurt. See? Simple. Not everything was so confusing.

He slowly got up, swaying slightly on his feet. He dropped the green fabric to the ground. It was dirty. Looking down, he noticed his clothes were ripped. His legs were all visible.

Well, what did it matter anyway.

He wandered out of the dark, into the light. The sun was bright and hot, like he knew it was. There were people bustling by, loud and warm and like bees in a hive. Like he knew they were. He wandered around them, slowly walking down the street in the hopes to find water to wash himself. He could hear water. He knew he was going the right way.

He was right.

Some things were so simple. He just had to ignore the confusing things, and he'd be all right.

He approached the fountain, dipping his hands in the clear water. Smelly brown washed off his hands, showing white delicate skin. He should take off his dirty clothes and wash them too.

"Ja'far!"

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, pulling him around to face a man with long purple hair and lots of jewellery. A rich man, no doubt.

He blinked at the man questioningly.

"Ja'far, what's going on? You were supposed to meet me an hour ago! Why are you so dirty and beat up?" The man slid his hands down his shoulders, feeling up his arms quickly before moving up and cupping his head. He cringed when strong fingers made contact with the back of his head, his headache intensifying. He must still be leaking.

"Good gods, Ja'far!"

He was tugged forward, and he was just barely in time to resist in order to avoid dirtying this man's expensive clothes too. It was bad enough his own were ruined. The man studied the back of his head, poking around gingerly. He decided to complain when fingers were threaded through thick tangles of hair and dried stuff.

"That hurts."

"Of course it hurts, you've got quite a wound there. We need to get you back to the palace and looked after."

He resisted the tug on his arm again. This man was just pulling him around, without even a greeting. So rude.

"Ja'far?"

"Where are we going?"

"The... the palace. I said that already."

"What palace?"

"Ja'far? What are you going on about?"

"Ja'far?" He repeated the strange word the man had uttered so many times now. "Who are you?"


	5. Toes 2 and Eyes 3

**I would like to encourage people to give me requests for these drabbles, as my own creativity in mangling people only goes so far. I was requested a continuation on Toes, so here it is. I am contemplating another continuation on Toes, but it won't be in the next chapter yet.**

**Also, the third continuation on the original drabble that started this all, Eyes.**

* * *

_Toes 2_

It was an insult, and Ja'far knew that was the intention. Kouen was so sure of himself that he didn't deem a lock on the door necessary. Ja'far was chained to a wall, cut up and starved. There was no way he could escape.

So the door remained unlocked, unclosed even. A tiny crack in the heavy door, with the sole purpose of taunting Ja'far's pride.

And taunting it did.

But Ja'far refused to leave it at that. After all, what were a few chains to him? People here called him a snake, so who was he to prove them wrong?

Granted, it did take him far too long to wriggle out of his chains. It was a good thing nobody bothered to take him out of his prison anymore, or they might have noticed his slow progress on forcing the chains. After two weeks, Kouen had lost his interest, realising Ja'far would bite off his own tongue before speaking. Since then he hadn't been taken from his cell, the only people he saw being the guards passing by his door and occasionally a man forcing scraps of foul tasting food down his throat. Nobody to see how the chains had loosened, or how his muscles had twisted. Nobody to notice how he had carefully broken one of his arms in order to slip out of the tight hold of the chains.

Nobody to hear him whimper and groan in pain, or notice the fresh blood on his lips when he bit them too hard.

As soon as he sunk to the floor, he knew he had to hurry. He couldn't stay here, laying around to catch his breath and to steel himself against the pain. The door was open, and as much as he could see the people outside, they could also look in.

He managed to raise himself slightly on an elbow and his knees. He had to stand. His feet burned and throbbed as he crawled towards the door, intending to use the small stool there to climb to his feet. It took some struggling and too much noise, but he did manage to pull himself on the stool. He reached out for the door, using the little strength left in his arm to pull himself upright.

It hurt. It hurt so badly.

His feet went white hot, nearly numb, and spears of icy pain shot up in his unused legs. It was almost a death struggle to remain on his feet, his hand clinging at the door post as his only support.

The hall was silent. There were no guards assigned to him. Kouen was so sure of himself.

_This would be easy._

He took a step forward, out of the doorway, into the hall. The pain it brought was not unexpected, but the speed at which the floor suddenly came closer was. He smacked face-first into the stone floor, a nasty crack where he landed on his broken arm.

He gritted his teeth, biting down on his pain. A small whine still managed to escape his throat, but nobody was around.

Why? Why did he fall? Was he no stronger than that?

The struggle to get up on his feet repeated, the stool, the doorpost, the pain. The few seconds to steel himself and to look through the hallway, determining which way to go.

But the next step ended with him face-first on the floor once again, not even a hint of balance present in his step forward.

_Toes_.

He clenched his fist, gritting his teeth and whimpering in frustration.

_How do you walk without toes?_

_..._

_Eyes 3_

Hands. Hands on him all the time. People just wouldn't stop touching him.

Every time he stepped too close to a doorstep, or stairs, or a single step up or down, there'd be hands on him, grabbing his arm, pulling him away gently. Every time his path was slightly skewed he would feel hands nudging him softly until he walked straight. Every time he reached the end of a wall, there would be hands on his fingers, leading him across the gap to the next wall to follow.

Everyone was touching him.

He tried to tell them off. He tried to snap at them. He even hit someone once - and of course it turned out to be a maidservant who ran off crying, effectively making him feel guilty for the rest of the day until he managed to track her down to apologise.

Nobody listened. Nobody cared that he told them off. Everybody just kept touching him. Hands on him all the time.

"Sin?"

"I'm here Ja'far."

"I know you're here," he answered coldly, "just because I don't have eyes doesn't mean I'm completely _blind_."

"That would normally be the definition of the word 'blind'." He could hear the slight amusement in Sinbad's voice while a chair scraped over the floor. Soft footsteps lead towards Ja'far and there were hands on him again, gently pulling him into the office.

He allowed them, just this once.

"What's with all the people in this palace being all over me, Sin?"

"All over you? Who are?"

"Everyone!" He turned around to face Sin, hoping his king was looking at him and he'd look at least slightly menacing with his eyes covered by bandages. "It's your doing, isn't it? Everywhere I go, people grab me to keep me from hurting myself, or walking into something, or getting lost! You told everyone to do that, didn't you!"

"I only had your best interest in mind," Sinbad tried to placate, placing his large hands over Ja'far's shoulders, trying to soothe him.

He hissed. "It's humiliating! Tell them to stop, they won't listen to me!"

"They will stop by themselves when you don't need them any longer. Just bear with it until you can move around normally again."

"I won't learn to move around by myself if people won't let me, Sin. I need to do this on my own. I don't want people to touch me wherever I am."

"Ja'far." He startled when the hands on his shoulders suddenly pressed down, making him topple backwards. He breathed in sharply when he landed on a chair he hadn't sensed yet. "Stop trying to do everything by yourself. Accept the help people are offering you. Everything will be better if you just allow people to help you."

"I'm not a complete invalid! I will not let myself be humiliated like this by everyone. I'm still your first advisor, and I'm still one of the eight generals! If I walk around with maidservants holding my hand so I don't scrape my knee, nobody will take me seriously!"

Sinbad seemed to mull this over, as he didn't respond. Ja'far felt a twist in his stomach, a nervousness he hadn't felt since he was a little child while waiting for a response. He couldn't read Sinbad's face. He couldn't see if he was tense or relaxed. He could only feel heat seeping through the man's palms into his shoulders.

He could barely remember the time when he couldn't read Sinbad's every move, and know exactly what the other was thinking.

"I'll tell the people in the palace not to baby you as much as they are doing now, but I won't tell them to stop helping you when you might hurt yourself."

"Tch."

Sinbad's hands tensed at his sneer, but relaxed immediately after. It was Ja'far's turn to tense when he felt Sinbad lean in. But he relaxed immediately after, and allowed Sin to brush their lips together without further protest.


	6. Voice 2 and Sanity

**These two probably contrast each other the most, up until now. Ja'far is too calm in the first drabble, and too -not calm- in the second.**  
**Extra warning for 'sexual themes' in the first one and the gore content being raised to a new level in the second.**

* * *

_Voice 2_

"Hello there, pretty boy. What brings you to a place like this?"

Ja'far gave the man a wry smile, hoping he'd be satisfied with just being acknowledged. He continued his trek through the stuffy bar either way, slipping between large and smaller bodies of men. He had been somewhat shocked with learning about the existence of this bar and went in with a letter to explain to the owner that even if the gender of his servants might be different, the same rules applied here as in any bar offering 'romantic' services. He had never heard of a bar specialising in men instead of women before though. But looking around, he didn't feel like he really missed anything crucial in his life.

"Hey, hey. Pretty boy. Don't go ignoring me now."

Ja'far was surprised by the man grabbing his arm. Nobody had ever dared to approach him so boldly - save Sinbad.

He shook his head, gave the man a bit of a strained smile and pulled free. The man let go of his arm without trouble, but didn't look like he was going to leave Ja'far alone any time soon.

"Shy then? Nothing more attractive than a shy beauty." The man offered him a toothy grin. "I haven't seen such a pale complexion before this far south?"

Did this man have absolutely no idea that what he was wearing were governmental robes? And surely, he must be the very first person Ja'far met in Sindria to have no clue at all about the pale general of the king.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty."

Ja'far was grabbed by his arm again, and the man pulled him forward towards the bar. Shocked, he planted his heels firmly to the floor, resisting the man's pull. He had never consented to this, what was this man thinking?

"Don't be shy," the man grinned, pulling again. Ja'far scowled and shook his head, trying to pull free. If only he wasn't carrying around the letter and a scroll for the owner of the establishment, he could've used his other hand to brush the man off. But as it was, he'd rather be punched in the face than put any paper down on these alcohol and filth splattered tables, and he just had to pull himself free like this.

The man frowned at his violent tug, and stepped back to loom over him. "What's your problem? I'm just inviting you to have a drink, and all you do is being rude? Cat's got your tongue?"

Well that was offending. True, it had already been established this man was a dimwit knowing nothing of Ja'far or his position, but the burn scars on his lips should provide a hint on his silence.

He glared at the man for good measure and made a gesture towards the bar, trying to tell the man to move on. He turned swiftly and tried to resume his walk to the side of the bar, where he was hoping to catch the attention of the owner.

But the man wouldn't let him.

"You feel so fucking great about yourself, don't ya?" Ja'far froze when he was grabbed again, only this time the grip was iron and squeezing down harder, and the man's voice was no longer sweet and flirting. The man's voice was angry now.

His eyes flashed around to the safest place he could put the scroll and letter in order to acquaint this man with one of his knives, but the second of hesitation turned out to be too long. This man was too fast - and definitely too short tempered - for a simple customer of a bar like this.

The scroll and letter were knocked from his hand as his wrist was grabbed, and he suddenly found himself pinned face down on a table. People around the table scattered in surprise.

Ja'far tensed, and almost managed to buck the man off, but the man was taller and heavier and simply put more weight on his wrists. "Rude little whore. Too good for talking to the likes of me? You think I'm so low I don't even deserve to get a 'no' in words? Well, fuck you, if you don't say no, that means you consent to whatever I do!"

This guy was truly an idiot.

Ja'far struggled and felt the man press his crotch to his ass. This was outrageous, to say in the least. He managed to twist his hand quickly, and as the man loosened his grip in surprise he brought out a knife from his sleeve. The unexpected sting of the sharp blade was enough for the man to release him, and Ja'far flipped over smoothly, swinging his blade under the man's chin.

He supposed the man was lucky that some customers of the bar had come to Ja'far's aid, as he was pulled back by three pairs of hands just in time to avoid a deep cut over his cheek.

The man shouted in surprise, looking at the flashing knife with genuine fear for a moment before realising he was now being held down. He started struggling violently until one of the men holding him kicked him in the gut.

"Are you completely insane?! That's Ja'far, one of the eight generals of Sindria!"

The man paled - even while he was coughing and hacking in pain.

"I'm so sorry this had to happen, Lord Ja'far." Ja'far raised an eyebrow at the man who had appeared to grovel before him. No doubt this was the owner. "I've never seen this man before, I assure you he is not one of my regulars. My customers are always very well behaved!"

The people around them started outing their agreement and Ja'far looked around him. Most men looked afraid of him. The man who attacked him looked about ready to wet his pants.

He smiled at the owner, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He had no intention of shutting down the establishment because of one rude customer. Seeing how three men had come to his aid and all of them were now looking genuinely nervous about his reaction, it couldn't be _that_ much of a bad place.

He bent down to pick up the scroll and letter where they fell, handing them over to the owner. As the man's eyes fell on the first few words of the letter, his face relaxed and he flashed a grateful look up to Ja'far.

And all this could've been so simply avoided if he had been able to tell the idiot off from the start. He idly traced the scars on his lips.

Everything had become so complicated.

...

_Sanity_

"Your king is dead."

"Fuck off."

Judal's eyebrows shot into his hairline, before he burst out laughing. Ja'far was not in the mood for the magi's antics though. He was covered in blood and cuts and bruises and even now they were surrounded by people fighting. Too much fighting, too much death, and definitely too much Judal.

"You don't believe me?" Judal hiccupped, wiping away a tear from his laughter. "Look for yourself. He's right there."

Ja'far froze and his eyes flew in the direction Judal had pointed him. Trampled under the feet of fighting soldiers from Sindria and Kou was a body clad in red-stained white, dark purple hair stomped into the bloody mud. The faint glitter of gold where a leather boot had stripped off the mud again.

"Believe me now?"

"That's not Sin." He denied. He wouldn't acknowledge this.

"It is though. So what will the lapdog do now his master has been brutally murdered? You can't see it very well from here because he's face down, but I witnessed his organs getting all ripped out. It wasn't a pretty sight, unless you like ruby. Oh, I like ruby."

Ja'far twitched, staring at the magi in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Sinbad couldn't be dead. It was simply not possible.

A soldier bumped into him, stumbling from a large bleeding gash in his leg. The man turned to helplessly swing his sword at Ja'far, but Ja'far paid him no heed. His arm shot around to dig out the man's eye with a knife, then ignoring him altogether while he kept staring at the trampled body several dozens of steps away from him.

"Oi, you're so heartless," Judal chuckled, "that guy had someone who loved him too, you know."

"Everybody loved Sin," he muttered out, his vision going blurry. Why was his vision blurry? His cheeks were warm and wet. With blood. With tears.

Heartless?

He looked at Judal sharply. So sharply, the magi's smirk faltered for a second.

"You killed him."

It was so terribly satisfactory to see the look of fear flash over Judal's face. Ah, wasn't it great he was able to bring such a look to the face of one so much more powerful than him? That meant Judal knew he was in trouble now.

Judal was gone in a flash, only a fraction of a second between him and the corded knives.

He killed him! _He killed Sin!_

Ja'far's eyes flickered around to find the elusive magi. Gone gone gone!

His knives flashed, cutting open two soldiers standing too close. He needed to find Judal. He needed to find the murderer!

Another stumbled into him. The fool. He cut open his front, letting his organs tumble out similarly to how Judal described Sin's fate.

No.

No, this couldn't be happening!

_Sin!_

He turned, eyes fixing on the body. Judal wasn't important. Sin was important. Sin was the only one who had ever been important. Everyone else was just in the way. Cattle.

He felled three men in two steps, blood gushing over his hands, the wires slippery between his fingers. He snapped the wires around two men's necks, pulling taut to decapitate them.

Was that a soldier from Sindria?

Not important! Nothing but livestock! _He wasn't Sin!_

Sin!

Four more men in the next few steps. Three more in the ones after. Four and he was on Sin's body. He hacked at the people fighting on top of the corpse. A man screamed, but he didn't care. He desecrated Sin's body, he deserved to be cut up alive. He deserved to have Ja'far cut out both eyes, then slash open his cheek into a large and corps-like smile. Yes, he was the corpse, not the one he was lying on top of. The struggling and thrashing body was the corpse, and he'd make him look like it. Open the belly, decorate him with his intestines. Cut off the fingers. Cut open the arms.

Still struggling even now?

"Ja'far!"

He stopped mangling the thrashing and squealing body, looking up at the surprisingly familiar voice.

He had been right! The body had been just a soldier! Sin was right there!

_But why did Sin look so disappointed in him?_


	7. Little Finger and Toes 3

**I had a request for something to do with a pinky promise. This drabble will be a little different from the rest, yet very much the same. I also did a third drabble on Toes because I felt like I didn't really complete the request I had for that one.**

* * *

_Little Finger_

"Hey Ja'far?"

He sighed in exasperation, turning to face his king.

"What is it Sin?"

"So cold." The High King of the Seven Seas pouted like a little child. "I just wanted to ask if you'd stay with me tonight?"

Ja'far felt heat raise to his cheeks and busied himself with setting some of the boxes in the tent straight.

"Either me or Masrur is going to be outside your tent throughout the night."

"I don't want you to be outside my tent." King now reduced to whining. Sometimes Ja'far wondered why he was following this man. _Ah yes, because he loved him_.

"Would you rather have Masrur there all night?" He asked prudently.

"If that means you'll stay with me inside the tent, then yes." He was given a wide grin and Ja'far huffed, moving on to pull the heavy draperies over the boxes that needed protection from the damp outside the tent.

"I just want you to stay with me here!"

"And you'd be fully satisfied with me sitting in a corner of the tent the whole night." Sarcasm dripped from his voice and it elicited another whine from his king.

"Oh come on, Ja'far. You know what I want."

"And I can't help but wonder why you would want such a thing." _Or how long this infatuation will last._

"Is it so hard to imagine I like you as more than just my most trusted friend, general and advisor?"

"It's already quite the flattering list, if I do say so myself." He turned to smile at his pouting king. "But really Sin, it would be no good if I stayed with you tonight. You are hardly capable of keeping your hands to yourself, and we're in a tent, for goodness sake. You have an image to uphold. In fact, so do I."

"What if I promise to do nothing more than cuddling?"

"When I wake up to you naked every time I give in to that, how am I supposed to trust that promise?"

Ja'far had to admit, his king was rather skilled at the whole kicked puppy look. Not to mention he _wanted_ to give in, really. He was afraid to believe in his king's affections, mostly because he was afraid of the heartbreak it would give him if his king were to move on to the next infatuation. And indeed, it only took a tiny whine for Ja'far to quickly resume his arguments, not being able to watch the pitiful sight for too long.

"It's dangerous Sin. I need to be outside, on the lookout. These parts are crawling with wild animals and thieves alike, not to mention we are still not completely on friendly terms with the Kou Empire. Someone might be sent to assassinate you at any moment. We can't have you clinging to me all naked when I need to protect you."

"You're overreacting, Ja'far. We've been travelling for almost two weeks, and we haven't even _seen_ a wild animal or thief. And the Kou Empire wouldn't make the blunder of sending assassins to me while I'm on my way to negotiate with them."

"Just because we haven't been attacked yet, doesn't mean we won't! Any moment we could be looking at a sword sticking through the side of the tent right here between our noses!"

"Ja'faaaar!"

"Not to mention you have completely failed to address the whole nakedness issue."

"But I want to be naked with you!"

"There's a time and a place for everything Sin."

The King perked up at that, suddenly all smiles and happiness. Ja'far only flushed harder, trying to keep his face blank to keep any form of eagerness from showing.

"If I promise you there will be no nakedness tonight, can I get you naked together with me when we get back to Sindria?"

Ja'far offered him a withering glare, but the childish happiness on Sin's face didn't fade.

"Fine."

"Pinky promise?"

"Fine!"

He sighed heavily, both tired from this whole discussion and happy for the blatant affection. He sat down next to Sin on the bed and offered him his hand, his king quickly entwining their little fingers.

And then the sword appeared, sticking through the side of the tent, right there between their noses. And frankly, Ja'far felt more hurt in his heart as it broke than in his hand when he saw two entwined little fingers drop off the blade to the ground.

...

_Toes 3_

"This is definitely not one of my best planned out endeavours."

More importantly, the fact he just caught himself talking to himself was a worrying development. It must be the combination of blood loss and adrenaline.

He was so close, yet so far away. There, right before him, were the docks. Ships everywhere. Yet how would he crawl onto a ship undetected?

Impossible.

It would be so nice if there was some kind of embassy of Sindria in this place. But then again, if he crawled into an official embassy in this state it would cause a political scandal of a scale a mere ambassador would probably not be able to handle. And neither would he, as he was now.

But how _should_ he escape? He couldn't crawl all the way to a neighbouring country on his one hand and bleeding knees. He couldn't make his way onto a ship and play stowaway until they got Gods know where, because he'd die of infections within days without even knowing where he was going. And he certainly couldn't stay here in this dirty alley, because it wouldn't be long until half of Kou would be searching for him.

Suddenly there were hands on him, grabbing underneath his arms and lifting him in the air as if he weighed nothing at all. His weakened state had left his reflexes rather suboptimal, so it was no surprise the man easily blocked him when his hand hacked backwards into the man's neck. As a matter of fact, he was perfectly predicted and flipped over, as if the man had known he'd do that all along.

And in hindsight, he probably did.

"Please calm down."

"M-Masrur?"

The tall man didn't respond and looked around instead, fixing his eyes on a heavy water proof drapery on a barrel nearby. Masrur picked it up and dropped it on top of Ja'far unceremoniously.

"We will go to the ship now. We leave tonight."

"How did you find me?" Ja'far struggled slightly to get more comfortable, and Masrur smoothly shifted him until he was cradled in his arm like an infant. Humiliating, granted, but it was Masrur. He could handle it if it was Masrur.

"By smell."

"Then what took you so long?"

Masrur ignored the irritation in his voice.

"We only arrived yesterday. Found your smell at the palace this morning, and followed your smell here."

"Where's Sin?"

"Home. Now quiet."

Ja'far shut up as commanded, feeling how he was carried over the docks. Wood protested heavily under Masrur's weight, and then the light feeling of standing on a ship followed. Even while docked, the feeling of a ship would always be unmistakable and surprisingly homely to Ja'far. It was as much of a relief as being found by Masrur was.

He was set down below deck and uncovered. As Masrur didn't do things in halves, he was also immediately stripped from the rags still hanging around his body. The Fanalis took out a bowl of water and cloth - standing there, all ready, all prepared - and started to scrub at Ja'far's dirty skin with a gentleness that belied his size and strength.

"Sin wanted to come."

Ja'far sighed. Masrur knew him too well. He had hoped Masrur hadn't noticed his disappointment when he said Sinbad hadn't come.

"He insisted. But it's not safe for him to be here. I locked him up when we left."

"You locked him up?" Ja'far couldn't help but feel slightly amused. He was hurting all over, he was starved, he could no longer walk and he was sitting naked and vulnerable in a ship in a port in the country that had been torturing him for weeks. But the thought of Masrur locking up his king brought a small smile to his face.

"Knocked him out first." Masrur now corrected. "And threw away the key. Sin couldn't be out before we passed the transportation barrier."

"You did well Masrur." Ja'far sighed and sagged on his stool, wincing away from the wet cloth in Masrur's hands. "I owe you my life _and_ Sin's now."

Reddish eyes pierced into his sharply. "Don't mention it."


End file.
